


Memoirs of a Mage: Wynneth Hawke

by thievinghippo



Series: Wynneth Hawke [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-02-10 10:21:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2021364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thievinghippo/pseuds/thievinghippo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stories, prompt fics and drabbles involving Wynneth Hawke, diplomatic mage. Anders/Hawke will be the focus, but others will show up occasionally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Resentment

**Author's Note:**

> These will be in no particular order, just written as the mood strikes. Enjoy!

“Do you resent me?”

Hawke watched Anders’ brow furrow slightly at the unexpected question as the sounds of gentle strumming from the lute ceased. A moment passed, then two, causing Hawke’s stomach to clench. His silence answered her question.

“Why do you ask?” he said, finally looking up from the lute. One hand ran through his hair, not held back by its usual strip of leather for once.

They had been relaxing in her - _their?_ \- chambers in the manor, after a full day of being apart. Anders at his clinic and Hawke dealing with Hubert and hammering out details of their new partnership. After a quiet supper together in the kitchen, they retired to the bedroom instead of the library, partially to avoid Leandra, who answered letters at her writing desk.

Hawke even convinced Anders to take a night off from working on his manifesto. Instead, he picked up the lute, claiming he played a little, though Hawke quickly realized he hadn’t underestimated his ability for modesty’s sake.

But the badly played music gave her time to think as she curled up on the bed, watching him play. Well, allowed her to think when she could keep herself from gazing at his nimble fingers and just how well acquainted with them she had become over the past few weeks.

She took a breath and gathered her courage. “During supper, when Mother came in for some water and we spoke for a moment…” Her voice trailed off as she wetted her lips, unsure now, that she wanted to actually finish the thought. But she charged on. Better to know than to wonder. “She mentioned my father and the look on your face…”

His eyes closed and Hawke could almost see the war brewing within him, not wanting to hurt her yet not wanting to lie. “Sometimes, Maker help me,” Anders said, his voice soft and pained, as he bowed his head. “Sometimes I do.”

Gently taking the lute from his hands, Hawke said, “There are times I wonder what it would be like. Perhaps I would have more empathy—”

She didn’t imagine the bright tint of blue in Anders’ eyes as he cut her off. “As long as I draw breath, you will never step one foot in the Circle.”

The intensity of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She took Anders’ hand in hers and lay back on the bed, her legs swinging freely over the side. “So you would not see me there, but…”

Hawke watched as he sighed - a silent one, encompassing his entire body - before settling next to her, laying on his side. With his free hand, he ran his fingers through her hair, down from its usual bun. She had gotten into the habit of wearing her hair down when she and Anders were alone.

His fingers gently scraped across her scalp, and she couldn’t help but lean into his hand. An early lesson she had learned about Anders was just how important touch meant to him. Every time they were alone he reached for her, holding her hand or pulling her into his lap. Hawke had theories, but they spoke only once of his year-long solitary confinement in the Circle and the look on his face had made her not want to bring up the subject again.

“I know you’re not without hardships, but it seems like life has been so easy for you,” Anders said. “You have a family…” His eyes darted to the embroidered pillow his mother gave him, sitting on an overstuffed chair. He brought the delicate pillow to her manor for safekeeping only after a few nights together. It amazed Hawke that it had survived seven escape attempts, not to mention the siege of Amaranthine and the voyage to Kirkwall. A pained look crossed Anders’ face as he leaned down, brushing his lips again her neck. “Those words were unkind, Hawke… I’m sorry.”

_Templars! Into the forest, Winnie, as fast as you can. Climb a tree and don’t come down until we tell you!_

There didn’t seem to be much point in trying to correct him. This wasn’t a contest, which of them had suffered more because of their magic, though she had no doubt he would win such a bout.

She wondered if she could help him understand her own experiences. Her magic had manifested early, fire and ice, leaving her with blisters and the occasionally bout of frost bite. Bethany had it easier, with her healing spells. Hawke became her father’s favorite teaching method, telling Bethany to heal Hawke’s burns. He didn’t care that she was hurting; it was more important to him that Bethany practice.

“I wish…” Her voice trailed off. She wished many things. She wished Anders had a father who hadn’t feared him, whose only emotion when the Templars chained his son in irons had been palpable relief. Hawke wished his mother had been brave, willing to run away with her son, instead of giving him up.

But wishes never changed the past. Wishes wouldn’t bring her father back, or Bethany, or have Carver healthy and whole here in Kirkwall instead of with the Grey Wardens.

His fingers circled her wrist. “I would not change a thing about you,” Anders said after a moment. “Not a thing. I never meant you to think otherwise.”  

Hawke swallowed, letting his words wash over her, knowing how much she needed to hear them. “I would not change you either,” she whispered.

“No?” Anders said, somewhat in surprise. “You wouldn’t get rid of Justice? He’s still not pleased at how much time we spend together.”

“But we do good work,” Hawke protested, thinking of the hours Anders bounced ideas off of her for his manifesto. A surge of resentment towards the spirit swelled, but she pushed it away. Anders was Justice and Justice, Anders. Hawke traced the line of Anders’ jaw with her fingertips, watching him close his eyes at her touch.

“I agree,” Anders told her.

“You would not be you if he was not there,” she said after a moment. “And I love you, Justice and all.”

“And I love you, even without experiencing the Circle,” Anders said, kissing her forehead.

Hawke smiled and pulled Anders to her. Her fears quenched, now that they’ve spoken. Perhaps they did occasionally resent each other, for matters beyond their control.  

But more important, they loved.

She would never doubt that.

Never.

 


	2. A Helping Hand

“You damn dog, not on the bed!”

Hawke cocked her head and listened outside the door to her bedroom. Strange that Baker was inside the room with Anders. Usually when Anders stayed the night the first thing he did was kick Baker unceremoniously out of the room.

She opened the door to see Baker on his hind legs, front paws balanced on Anders’ shoulders. Her eyes went wide, realizing Anders wore nothing but a pair of smalls and that both he and Baker were soaking wet.

“Do I want to know?” Hawke asked.

“Oh bloody… Close the door, please,” Anders said, his shoulders slumping. “This is what happens when I try to do something nice.”

“You end up in your underclothes hugging my dog?” Hawke asked, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

“You mentioned the other day that Baker needed a bath, so I thought while you were out…” Anders trailed off as Hawke took Baker’s paws and helped him to the ground.

“You’d give him a bath?”

“Exactly,” Anders said. “But the blasted animal didn’t want to get in the tub. I thought you said he loved baths.”

Hawke looked at Anders, his hair down and mused, water trickling down his bare chest. He was a mess and absolutely beautiful. “Perhaps he didn’t want a bath when Bodahn bathed him yesterday.”

“Ah,” Anders said, putting his hands on his hips. He looked at Baker. “Sorry, chap.”

“No matter,” Hawke said with a smirk, grabbing Baker by the collar and leading him out of the room. She looked at Anders and slowly started unbuttoning her shirt. “Perhaps you could help me with mine, instead?”


	3. Tell Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was _Tell Me_ , a drabble about a character confessing something to another.

She wakes up first.

Her eyes open slowly, gradually adjusting to the light pouring into her bedroom window. Hawke turns her head and sees Anders, breathing far too steadily to be awake, and her heart clenches.

When they first started sharing a bed, Hawke had dreams of falling asleep in his arms every night. But the realities of sleeping next to a Grey Warden kicked in. Anders rarely sleeps through the night, with dreams of dark spawn and archdemons haunting him. The few hours of sleep he does manage prove risky, as he tossed and turned and occasionally flailed.

He still apologizes for breaking her nose, two years later.

So she sleeps on one end of the bed and he on the other. It’s safer that way. But this morning it’s not his dreams she worries about. It’s hers.

Justice _kissed_ her.

Hawke remembers the heat of his mouth, an almost desperation from Justice she never sensed before. They met in the Fade for quite some time. Sometimes he speaks to her, sometimes he doesn’t. But there’s always the sense that he’s there, watching.

And she kissed him back.

She knows in the Fade Justice takes the form of Kristoff, the Warden whose body he possessed before joining with Anders. It was… different, kissing him. No stubble on his cheeks to tickle her chin, his arms stronger as they wrapped around her. And now she wonders what other differences they might have.

The thought lingers in her mind for a bit too long and Hawke turns on her stomach, burying her face in her arms. Not even the greatest scholar… Anders told her that once. Is it a surprise, then? For her to find Justice just as attractive as Anders? To want to be with Anders completely, mark every part known to her, let him know she accepts him just as he is?

“Hawke?”

If he’s awake, he knows what happened in the Fade. But he deserves to hear it from her, just the same. She turns on her side, and across the bed, Anders mirrors her position.

“I kissed Justice.” She makes sure there’s no sense of apology in her voice. Because the more she thinks of it, the more she isn’t sorry. Anders is Justice is Anders. She is allowed to love them both.

“He kissed you first,” Anders says, giving Hawke no clue of his feelings in his voice.

She reaches out her hand and he takes it, rubbing his thumb against his palm. “I hope I haven’t upset you.”

Shaking his head, he says, “I knew it would happen eventually. Though I almost feel like I should throw his words back at him for this. He was so angry when I first came to you.”

“Well, I suppose we should be glad we’re all friends now,” Hawke says, inching towards Anders.

Hawke smiles as Anders takes the hint and pulls her in his arms. “Let me show you just how friendly we can be.” 


End file.
